


The price of water

by Heidigard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark Sherlock, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Non-Consensual, Pirate Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 18:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13595493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heidigard/pseuds/Heidigard
Summary: Deep down, John had known from the start that Captain Holmes' kindness would have a terrible price.





	The price of water

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [On the High Seas.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157911) by [Meowzalot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowzalot/pseuds/Meowzalot). 



> Spin-off to “On the high seas” by Meowzelot
> 
> I started reading "On the high seas"... and this happened (though Meowzalot's Sherlock is nothing like the one in my story) . I can't believe I did this! Omg, and I'm posting it, too! *hides* Anyway, won't make all that much sense without reading the original story, I guess, but if non-con floats your boat (haha, pun!) feel free to go ahead.

The price of kindness

Evening was falling on the ship of pirate captain Sherlock Holmes. Earlier in the day, after the captive John Watson had uttered a plea on behalf of his fellow prisoners to receive at least some water for their absolutions after days in the hold with the prospect of several more days to come until they reached the pirate island. Captain Holmes had granted that request, much to John’s surprise, and not asked anything in return. However, John had been waiting for the other shoe to drop and it did when he was called to the Captain’s cabin later that night.

 

Rough hands shoved him through the door and banged it shut behind him without taking step inside themselves. He shook himself from the abusive treatment, rolling his shoulders, before his eyes found Captain Holmes lounging in his desk chair. Secretly, John had known what the price for the kindness of providing the ladies with wash buckets would be and now he had bitter certainty: Holmes sat with legs spread, watching him with calculating, but dark, almost hungry eyes. As if that would not have been enough to tip John off, there was also the fact that Sherlock’s breeches were undone and he was lazily gliding one hand up and down his stiff manhood, showing no signs of shame over the disgusting immodesty of it. It didn’t matter, though, thought John, as it was quite clear what was about to happen here, and modesty would not have a part in it.

 

“Good evening, Doctor,” Sherlock’s voice was deep and dangerous, like a roaring river. “Take off your trousers, please.” He phrased it like a friendly request, but there was no mistaking the dark purr of his timbre. There would not be room for argument.

 

“So you have decided on a form of payment for this days’ favour, then,” John ground out bitterly. “I should have known you would be one of... that inclination.”

 

Sherlock just looked at him, slightly narrowing his eyes. The threat in that look was unmistakable. They stared at each other, John glowering and clenching his jaw as hard as he could without breaking a molar and Sherlock studying him shrewdly. At length, he spoke. “It seems I need to ask you not to speak from here on out. Your comments are most tedious. Please do continue with divesting yourself of your garments.”

 

John pressed his lips together, knowing there was no use in contradicting him and incensing him with backtalk. With an angry jerk, he unravelled the drawstring holding his baggy breeches up. They fluttered to the floor, leaving only his shirttails to cover his modesty. There was a tiny intake of breath from Sherlock.

 

“Good. Stay like that.” The pirate reached out his free hand to pick up a small vial from his desk. With a causal flick of his wrist, he sent it flying towards John, who, on reflex, reached out to grasp it. “I assume you know what to do with this.”

 

John looked down at the small bottle in his hand and the viscous fluid within. With a glance at Sherlock, he uncorked it and sniffed the content. Whale oil. “Prepare yourself,” Sherlock added, causally and with no further explanation.

 

So the Captains price was going to be even higher than he had anticipated. John wondered what would be demanded later on for even letting him have the oil. Surely, if water for washing did not come for free on this ship, whale oil would be even more... expensive.

 

John looked up at Sherlock, his face mutinous through his helplessness. Before he could break his imposed silence, Sherlock cut him off, eyes glittering. “One finger to start, I think, and we’ll go from there.”

 

There was nothing for it. Tipping the bottle, he coated his right middle finger with the slick liquid, then looked up at Sherlock, hoping his gaze was enough to communicate the utter loathing and disgust he felt.

 

John had, of course, heard of men with such inclinations, but nothing was further from his mind than counting himself amongst their number. The details of those unspeakable acts were unknown to him. Sherlock, however, seemed to have no qualms about giving him unnecessary instructions to prompt him into action. “I suggest gliding it behind your bullocks until you can reach _in_.”

 

The way he spoke the last word made it sound both unspeakably filthy and strangely sensual. John gave the captain a last hate-filled glare, then fixed his eyes on the inkwell on Sherlock’s desk as he moved his finger hesitantly down and backwards. Eventually, he felt the texture under his finger tip change as the skin furled up into that tight opening. He suppressed a flinch of revulsion only by virtue of his long experience as a medical man.

 

Taking a deep breath, he told himself to relax, suspecting it would be more painful if he held himself tense and unreceptive. His eyes involuntarily jumped up to Sherlock’s, who was watching him with an expression bordering on boredom, still stroking himself lazily. But his eyes were ravenous.

 

John pressed inwards. He could feel himself parting around the intrusion like he was pushing his digit through tar. It was an utterly foreign sensation, but not painful, not yet. When he had impaled himself as far as he could, he began moving his hand carefully. The oil assisted the glide in and out.

 

Just as he could feel himself beginning to get used to the strange feeling, Sherlock’s dark purr came again. “Another,” he demanded.

 

John clenched his fist around the vial still in his hand as he attempted to comply by putting his index finger next to the one already inside him. This proved to be a much more difficult and painful exercise than the first had been. His fingernail seemed to get in the way of every attempt to insert the digit. Sweat broke out on his brow. He could hear Sherlock shifting in his chair, the wet sound of his moving hand changing as it sped up slightly.

 

John resolved to broaden his stance. The ship rocked gently beneath his feet, as if nudging him to continue. He could hear murmuring voices from the deck outside and wondered if they knew what unholy atrocity was happening right on the other side of the wood.

 

Finally, he managed to comply with Sherlock’s request. The burn was not as intense as it could be – as it would become in just a few minutes, he knew, when he would be asked to accommodate yet another finger. He could feel himself clamping down, muscles going rigid. Breathing for a few moments, he took the time to send another look of contempt in the direction of the captain.

 

It turned out John was right. All too soon was he commanded to add a third finger, still struggling to relax into the two already inside. Now, real pain was biting at him, stabbing him like his fingernails were surely stabbing his innards.

 

His eyes wandered over to Sherlock’s ministrations along his member. He swallowed, feeling despair rise momentarily as he imagined what would be coming. Sherlock was not huge, not like other men he had seen; indeed, not even as big as John himself, but still certainly wider in circumference than three fingers. Again, he tried to release his muscles, to allow his hand to move more freely, but it did not help much.

 

“That’s enough.” John looked up and was sure that despite his resolve to accept his due and bear it with as much dignity as he could, his expression must be a pleading one. Sherlock moved to his feet, his erection bobbing obscenely where it protruded from the gap in his trousers. He wiped his hands on his thighs. “Come over here.”

 

John swallowed convulsively against the urge to retch. He withdrew from himself and tried not to look at the detritus stuck underneath his nails now and the slime coating his fingers. Worse was the oddly empty feeling in his rear that was left behind. He awkwardly waddled over to Sherlock’s desk, his ankles still trapped in his clothes.

 

Sherlock wordlessly indicated the desk with on eloquent gesture of his hand and John didn’t have to ask for explanation. Slowly, like a convict leaning over to place his head on the executioner’s block, he braced his forearms on the surface, exposing himself in an utterly humiliating and shameful way. Sherlock growled appreciatively behind him before he roughly inserted one foot between John’s and forced John’s legs apart as far as they would go with the breeches still enclosing them.

 

Hands were pushing along his back hiking up his shirt to his shoulder blades. John dropped his head into his arms, waiting. He would not call himself a coward and, indeed, others even praised him as a brave man, but he was not above admitting to himself that he was terrified in this utterly emaciating moment.

 

Sherlock did not let him wait long. He stepped up close behind John until the fine hairs on both of their thighs were brushing, front to back. Spreading John’s cheeks with both hands, Sherlock guided his manhood to rest against the reddened entrance. John could feel it laying there like a hot brand. Breathing harsh and fast through clenched teeth, he closed his eyes.

 

Sherlock didn’t give him another moment to prepare. Guiding himself with one hand and holding John’s hip steady with the other, the pirate captain forced his way inside the yielding body beneath him.

 

There was an agonising stretch followed by a twanging sensation as the rounded head entered.

A whimper escaped John despite his intentions to keep his silence. Sherlock growled, stroking John’s flank roughly as he continued to push forward and skewer John’s centre.

 

John’s eyes began to water, both from the pain and the humiliation. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Sherlock’s hips came flush against his behind. The pirate was fully seated inside his spoil now.

 

The reprieve only lasted for a few breaths before Sherlock began to move, gliding almost all the way out before driving back in, faster with each role of his hips. The legs of the table squeaked against the wooden planks and the piece of furniture would have moved if it weren’t affixed to the floor, such was the force of Sherlock’s thrusts. The movement pushed a low moan from John.

 

Sherlock was breathing heavily above him, now gripping both his hips for leverage – and then something was struck inside him that sparked like gun powder in a flash pan. John almost choked on his next breath. The pain was marginally subsiding now, though still considerable, but it was countered by a bewildering surge of heat on every other thrust. To his utter humiliation and confusion, John could feel his cock beginning to fill.

 

“Ah.” Was all Sherlock said, but John could hear the wicked grin in the other man’s tone. John didn’t know what to do. He had resolved to endure the act in silence, let his mind retreat as far as he could manage while being mounted by the pirate captain like a brood mare. Now, his cheeks were flushing as blood flowed south, engorging his tissues.

 

Suddenly, Sherlock’s hand vanished from his side and appeared again, curled around John’s throbbing erection. John hissed in a startled breath while Sherlock continued to mercilessly plough into him. The other man must be close to completion now, he judged from the increasingly erratic pace and hot panting on the back of his neck.

 

Then, without warning, heat was building at the base of John’s spine. Sherlock momentarily stiffened above him as he released his seed inside of John. After several more thrusts, John’s vision whitened out as he spilled his own load onto the cabin floor.

 

Sherlock’s hand fell away as his front came to rest against John’s back while their breathing evened out. Eventually, they disengaged, warm gloop sliding unpleasantly between John’s arse cheeks and down the inside of one leg. His cheeks were flaming with embarrassment and humiliation when Sherlock dropped a white linen handkerchief on the desk in front of him. “Clean yourself up.”

 

John did, as best as he could. There were red streaks on the crisp fabric when he was done. Where John had wanted to rage and shout before, ere he was ordered to silence, now he could not think of a single thing to say.

 

When he turned around after re-tying his drawstring, Sherlock was already sitting in his chair again, looking as cool and collected and put-together as a man who had done nothing more than finished dictating a letter only moments ago. John was being studied with a cool gaze and once again, it was like the Captain was reading his mind. Sherlock spoke while regarding him over steepled fingertips. “Do you realise you did not even protest my order?”

 

John paled. Sherlock was right. He had not. But on the life of the Holy Mother Mary, he could not find a single word of explanation for the fact. A slow, wicked grin spread across Sherlock’s face. John ignored the expression and forced himself to swallow so as to moisten his dry mouth. “Does-“ His voice broke on a harsh rasp. He swallowed again. “Does this conclude my depth for today’s gift?”

 

Sherlock watched him for a moment longer. Then, he nodded sharply. “It does,” he confirmed. “But keep yourself _prepared_ , I might have further use of you in the future.” The dark promise sent a shudder down John’s spine as he turned to leave the captain’s cabin.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, that was that. So sorry about this... and it's my first explicit posting, too!  
> Please leave feedback anyway.


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